


Needs of the Wicked

by JenovaVII



Series: Mind'invasion Universe [2]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 14:19:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenovaVII/pseuds/JenovaVII
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion piece to 'Privacy Breach'. Asami enjoys rationalizing everything. Including sex, Takaba and himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needs of the Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Anytime after Chapter 4 of Volume 7 – Pray In Abyss
> 
> A/N: A few people expressed interest in seeing 'Privacy Breach' from Asami's POV so this is for them (Eprime, Radcat38 and Reira_153). This got waaay out of hand, though, and what was supposed to be porn turned... well, not porn. Kill me now, yeah?

I step into the minuscule square he calls shower and turn on the cold water still exhaling the last cloud of smoke. Being the antepenultimate day of the month, no doubts he hasn't a droplet of warm water left.

I find my mouth curving. Once again, not asking for my consent, as it has been happening more regularly since he fell from the rooftops straight into my net.

It's vexing: that such a creature, dense regarding his own aptitudes, is able to oh-so-easily _touch_ me.

 _Me_.

I reflect on it as I rid myself of the proof of our union. His seed ink on my abdomen, on my fingers and palm; his essence on the tip of my tongue. I scrub it gently away from by body, as if I were caressing his, not unlike but a while ago. I have it cleaned just so I can go back through the door that separates us and have him spill his pleasure all over again, and again; the excruciating bliss he so craves and denies clear as water on his contrastingly fiery eyes.

Bringing him to such a state, every time is like being born, and him is all that exists around me. And I am positive that all his floating brain cells can murmur about is me.

I don't look down so I don't see what the mere thoughts of him induces me into. I can feel it just fine.

Just because it will be highly amusing when he eventually finds out his influence in me, it doesn't mean I will make it easy and show him a shortcut; so I grab the towel I _know_ he uses the most and cover myself with it.

The journey of discovery that will lead to his understanding of _us_ will be his scoop alone, as I watch his rising frustration and confusion, hope and affection, disgust and longing from the sidelines. He will never use a joker and risk punishment, although it is not the punishment he fears (but rather hatefully anticipates), it is his pride that does not allow him to bow to others to such an extent, to bow to _me_.

And I will personally see to it: that his unbending will will remain as it is, deeply engrained into him, never breaking down, only some times reaching a low point to shoot back up again, more alive and stubborn than anytime before.

*

His sweet ragged cry echoes in my ears and my arousal twitches and spikes in response.

A sight to behold, he. So beautiful. Here, in his bed, touching himself the way _I_ touch him. Shivers trace his whole frame, yet, not from cold.

Only then does he take notice of the real me, and he doesn't think twice before opening his eyes and leaving the fantasy me behind his lids. I hadn't cared for toweling off so I shamelessly keep on dripping down on his floor along the path my feet take to his mattress.

I know he wants me, wants to touch me, wants my touch on him. I've contemplated on it and, with little to no margin of error, aside from impossible demands regarding the two of us being apart or the compromising of his security _in any other way,_ I do not have it in me to deny him anything.

Which is favorable, since I have no desire to ever do such a thing. Teasing him, spoiling him, indulging him is much too fun. Pity he does not ask much of me, if anything at all. Otherwise he would truly see, the limitless extents to which I would go for him.

My gaze fixes on the saliva dotting his chin and my tongue comes out to lap at my own lips; a sample of what it'll do to his.

When I press my weight down on his slighter form he sighs in relief, even as he glares daggers at me. He pushes me away, hand at my shoulder, as he draws me in, fingers ripping the towel and leaving me bare to him.

I keep the feeling of pleasant surprise at his bold action to myself, deep within, and kiss his eyes shut before he can take a look between our bodies. 'No shortcuts' rule.

It pleases me immensely: his now more and more often displays of lust and aggression.

But I will not let him have a taste at full-out domination. Not until he realizes, at long last, what _this_ - _-_ what _we_ are. _That_ will be his reward.

For when he gives up on being an obnoxious brat and stops making me wait.


End file.
